We come to church to get a spoonful of God.
Too bad he never came in that size.
The elderly sit, stone-faced.
The teenagers whisper jokes in the back row.
Kids pass notes, fidget and doodle.
The twenty-somethings look lost.
The forty-somethings look tired.
Crinkly noises of pages turning.
We are all confused.
They put ten people on the stage to make us sing.
They could have had forty. It wouldn't have changed us.
Wave your hands, o Zion. Sway to the music.
Do you even know who you praise?
Roll your eyes, o children. You'll never listen.
He preaches words we've heard many times before.
We still don't listen.
Same voice same Bible. They don't register.
We are the same church because we are consumed with sameness.
Will you take our praise, o God?
Will you hear us?
Will you unbend us, o God?
Will you change us?
Jo, I really like this poem. Not the apathy. I don't like that. I like the way you explained it. The post made me think, which is good. Thanks. :]
ReplyDeleteHey!! It's Chrissy (Jenn's friend...or my blog it's Dulcinea lol!)
ReplyDeleteI love this poem!! I have felt the aggravation of the apathy in the church many times and I can sympathize. It is sad sometimes how dead the church can be. Prayerfully, we will become alive in Christ!
thanks guys!
ReplyDeleteGod will jolt the church out of its sleepy apathy. It's only a matter of time, and if people are willing to sacrifice their reps. *sigh*
well, that, and a serious heart change.
ReplyDelete